Formaldehyde
by Seraphina Aster
Summary: Peter has to dissect pig fetuses for his Biology class and it doesn't go too well. In short, Peter has a sensory overload. I don't know about you, but when we dissected frogs and pig fetuses in our class, I literally gagged at the smell. May be continued?


Peter tapped the eraser end of his pencil on the hard, beige desk. His old AP US History textbook was open to page 394, depicting Sherman's army of African Americans in the Civil War. Unfortunately, the AC was broken, so the cloudy, white fan droned over Mr. Rainer's lecture about the importance of their march, merely spreading the stench of sweat and the lavender air freshener that was unsuccessfully trying to mask the scent. A fly buzzed lazily around the small classroom of about 18 students.

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

Only 30 seconds to go till fourth period.

The seconds passed by agonizingly slowly, each second taking its sweet time to pass.

Why does time seem to slow down right before the end of class?

The bell chimed.

It was music to his ears.

Grabbing his textbook and backpack and joining the stampede of his peers into the hallway of hell, he went down the stairs and arrived at his destination: the biology lab.

He wasn't sure what Dr. Schneeman had meant the day before when she told them she had a "surprise" for them today, but dissecting pig fetuses was certainly not what he expected.

As soon as he stepped into the small lab, he was hit with a wall of strong-scented formaldehyde. It burned his nose and throat, the sickly stench eating away at his sensory receptors.

Shaking his head and making a beeline for his lab table, he sat between Ned, who was doodling a horrible cartoonish rendition of Darth Vader, and MJ, her attention entirely devoted to the Alchemist book in front of her. Dropping his backpack on the floor next to him, he stared at the board, which described the cadaver lab they would be performing. A thick packet lay on their table, going into detail about the anatomy of the corpse they would be dissecting and relaying further, more detailed instructions. In addition to the packet, a thick rubber slab, speckled with various tiny holes, was placed in a tan tray, which was a little larger than the school lunch trays.

Peter flipped through the packet, trying to ignore the wretched stench, skimming over the various diagrams of the pig's anatomy; information he was guaranteed he would never use, much like most, but not all, of the information he would absorb and lose within these last three years.

A few minutes later, Dr. Schneeman finally entered the classroom and began to explain the lab. Peter tried to pay attention, but it was hard to focus with the rancid odor stinging the back of his throat. Before he realized, the explanation was over and Dr. Schneeman wheeled in a cart stacked with pig fetus corpses. The stench got worse.

He sat silently and watched Ned grab a pig fetus from the cart, its juices moving within the vacuum sealed bag. Ned came back to the table and dropped the dead pig in front of me, shaking me out of my scent-induced stupor. He fumbled around in his backpack for a bit and pulled out a pair of black-handled scissors. He began to cut open the bag when a new, stronger wave of the offensive odor hit him like a brick wall.

He gagged and covered his mouth and nose.

That was his breaking point.

Suddenly, the smell increased by tenfold.

He heard the silent snipping of thick plastic bags.

He saw the tiny grooves in the alabaster concrete blocks on the wall.

He felt the thin rubber gloves on his hand.

He heard the once quiet conversations between lab partners, now amplified to an unbearable level.

He saw the tiny threads that made up the yarn they were using to tie the pig fetus to the tray.

He felt the tiny divots in the nearly smooth gray lab table.

The stench of the formaldehyde and rubber churned in the air.

It was all too much.

His throat tightened up, and his breaths began to quicken.

"Peter, you good?" Ned asked worriedly upon seeing his friend's prone form.

He flinched at the loud words and whimpered.

Ned called for the teacher, and Peter heard every excruciating syllable.

He felt a hand on his hunched back and he jumped back from the touch, turning towards the proprietor of the hand.

It was MJ, wearing a face of concern.

He needed to leave.

Now.

He bolted out the open door, leaving behind his belongings, his friends, and a very confused classroom of students.

He didn't have a destination in mind; anywhere but that classroom.

He soon stumbled upon the bathrooms, and dove into the last stall.

Peter leaned against the cool, smooth concrete wall before sliding down, sitting on the uncomfortable tiled floor, his legs hunched up to his chest, panting shallow, fast breaths.

Why did he always have to mess up?

A tear raced down his face and landed on his jeans, soaking into the denim on his knee.

"Peter?" he heard a voice whisper in the small bathroom.

He heard the light footsteps approach his stall, sending small vibrations in the ground.

He met eyes with MJ.

She immediately sat down next to him and took his shaking hand, not breaking their unconfirmed staring contest.

"Peter, listen to me. Just listen to my voice and look into my eyes, okay? Focus on it. Block out everything else." she whispered.

He nodded meekly, his chestnut eyes not leaving her chocolate gaze.

"Good. Think about our Mohican 6th grade camping trip. Do you remember it?"

She received another nod.

"Think back to those tall, towering trees. Red pine, oak, aspen, sycamore, and hickory, each playing a vital role to the ecosystem. They gently swayed in the cool October breeze, harboring many nests and homes for the creatures that lived in the large forest. The large rock formations allowed for small trails to snake in-between them. They were covered in moss and vines, which crisscrossed the smooth sedimentary rock. At night, the crickets and creatures of the dark sang their soliloquies while we all tried to sleep. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were served buffet-style, but any leftovers we had were dumped into a black, five gallon tub to be used as compost. They challenged us to have less compost every day, meaning that we should eat what we take. Remember when you were looking up at an owl and tripped over a root while on our night hike?"

Peter giggled. He had to go back early to bandage his scraped knee.

He smiled. Over the course of MJ's story, Peter was able to calm down and gather his bearings.

All that was left was a throbbing headache and an aching chest.

"Better?" She hummed.

"Better." He murmured.

They break their unintentional staring contest and sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at the eggshell blue stall wall in front of them.

"Now that that's over, tell me what triggered it."

"What?"

"What caused you to panic and run off?"

Peter turned beet red.

"Um… it was the smell…" He mumbled.

"The formaldehyde?" MJ asked.

"Yeah," He replied.

A few silent seconds slipped by.

MJ sighed and stood up and offered a hand to Peter.

"Come on."

"I don't want to leave," Peter whined, curling further into himself. "I don't want their pity."

"I'll take care of them. Just follow me, okay? I told Ned to go down to the office and call your mom, so you'll be leaving for today."

MJ smiled.

"Trust me. I can handle our classmates and Dr. Schneeman. Besides, you can't stay here forever."

Peter reluctantly gave in and took her hand. She pulled him up from the floor and steadied him.

Placing her hand on his shoulder, MJ guided Peter to the office, deflecting her fellow curious classmates and angered teacher.

Food for thought:

\- Should I continue this story? Please let me know if or how I should proceed with the rest of the story.

\- How did MJ know what to do when Peter was panicking?

\- I WAS NOT SHIPPING PETER AND MJ. IT'S A PLATONIC FRIENDSHIP. Although, I wouldn't be against their ship.

Please let me know what you think by reviewing, favoriting, and following this story (It may be continued). Favorite and follow me to get more stories like this!

 _Until next time,_

 ** _Serafina Aster_**


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